


Holiday

by Anonymous



Series: took time (to let you know) [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas, Family, Hurt/Comfort, LGBTQ Themes, Multi, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 06:05:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13897872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Narcissa and Draco enjoy the holiday. Narcissa reconnects with family, and Draco has something to tell his mother.---Narcissa watched on in amusement as her son, her only treasured son, practically floated through bolts of expensive fabrics and shelves of accessories. He’d been here not two months ago, to get his Yule Ball robes personally made, and still this was his reaction. She couldn’t exactly talk, of course, circling a deep purple satin creation as she kept Draco in her line of sight. She wondered briefly if Kingsley would like the look of it on her, and then pushed the thought aside. It wouldn’t do to dwell on such girlish fantasies, especially when the object of said fantasies had given little to no indication that he would care either way.





	Holiday

Tonks sunk gratefully into the chair behind her desk, sinking until her spine was near parallel with the seat and her eyes blissfully closed. They were done. Four Dark Wizards, seven cities, and a whole range of mountains, and they were finally done. Even with the mission going sideways—as both Tonks and Kingsley had predicted—they’d gotten out with all their limbs mostly intact, and just in time for Christmas.

Even if Tonks felt like she’d gone a couple rounds with the giant squid back at school.

A light cough brought her out of her reverie, and she opened her eyes. Immediately she wished she hadn’t; Narcissa Black—Black, now, as Kingsley insisted on correcting her when he wasn’t flustered from her teasing—was standing in front of her.

“Mrs. Mal—Black!” she exclaimed, scrambling to her feet, banging her knee agaisnt the desk and knocking a few sheafs of parchment to the floor. She ducked to pick them up, and narrowly avoided banging her head, too. Narcissa’s descent was much more graceful, sweeping her legs under her to help Tonks and fighting a smirk. Tonks shot to her feet the second they were done, and stuck out a hand for the other woman to grab and pull herself to her feet.

“Thanks,” Tonks told her as they stacked the documents back on the table, Narcissa even neater than when they fell. “But, um, Kingsley’s not here.” The poor bastard was still locked in a room with the different magical ministers, being interrogated on both his and the rest of their performances.

“I’m aware,” Narcissa said. “He had told me he likely wouldn’t be able to see me for a few days after your department’s official closing of the cases.”

“Oh, then…” Tonks trailed off, wondering how to say ‘why are you here?’ without being rude.

“I came to talk to you,” Narcissa said, and her face looked grave. “Your file here says your parents are Andromeda and Edward Tonks, is that correct?”

Oh, shite. Oh, fucking _shite_. She wanted to talk about her mum and the Noble and Most Bullshit House of Black. Tonks briefly contemplated saying she’d never heard of them, walking out the office, and Apparating to Greece. She knew she couldn’t, both because of her career and the fact that it would likely only stop Narcissa for a week at most, but a girl could dream.

“Depends,” she settled on. “What’re you going to do with that information?”

“I’d like to give you this,” Narcissa said, her grim face turning faintly green as she pulled a box out of her clutch. The box was beautiful and at least three times bigger than the aforementioned clutch, and Tonks resisted the urge to step back. “They’re arm guards, enchanted to deflect most minor hexes and jinxes, and could deflect most low-level curses once before being destroyed.”

Tonks took them from her slowly, and opened the box. The guards were just as beautiful as the box, if not more so—leather and silver intertwined into the symbol of the DMLE, and the insides were lined with the softest looking material Tonks had ever seen.

“You are my niece,” Narcissa continued. “I’m not sure if Andromeda has ever told you about what family she came from, and has every right to have never said—”

“Of course she does!” Tonks burst out. As beautiful as the guards were, she had half a mind to throw them at her. “You all disowned her!” Her mom didn’t talk about it, but the yearning for a family that didn’t want her was obvious. When she was younger, Tonks had been hurt that her and dad weren’t enough for her. Now, she understood, but still wondered what it would take for someone to cast out family. Her mum had enjoyed hearing about Kingsley and Narcissa and their hilarious inability to get their shit together, but as she’d loved hearing about all the people in Tonk’s office. Hearing about how her sister had approached Tonks, and Tonks alone, like several decades of history didn’t exist, was another thing entirely.

Narcissa nodded. “We did, and I imagine there’s nothing I could do or say to make amends for that and ignoring my own sister for the past decades, but Nymphadora, I—” She cut herself off. “Even if you never consider me family, as you should have been able to from birth, I’d like you to know that I care about your wellbeing. Yours and your mother both.”

Tonks huffed. “Really. Don’t suppose you got mum something fancy to say that to her, too?”

“No,” Narcissa said. “Anything she knew was from me would be burned; possibly while cackling. I know my sisters, Nymphadora,” She said to Tonk’s shocked expression, “We all are prideful and vengeful, in different ways. She will not talk to me.”

“She might,” Tonks said reluctantly. Narcissa had made her case surprisingly well. And the arm guards _were_ cool. _Damn manipulative Slytherins_.

Narcissa shook her head. “She will not; I will learn to be alright with that. Happy Christmas, Nymphadora.” She turned to walk out.

“Tonks.”

She turned back. “Hm?”

“Tonks is what all my friends and family call me.” Narcissa raised an eyebrow, and Tonks sighed. “Mum sticks to ‘Dora’ like a mad woman.”

“As she should. It’s a very good name, and you should be proud. Happy Christmas, Dora.”

Tonks groaned, and Narcissa laughed as she closed the door.

 

Narcissa breathed a sigh of relief when Draco eased into the hug she gave him on Platform 9 and 3/4 at the start of winter break. After the World Cup, he’d been damn near apoplectic, screaming about betraying their family and their allies. She’s ashamed that she gave nearly as good as she got. They’d never argued like this before, never so much as raising their voices at each other, and now they’d shouted themselves hoarse. They’d barely managed to get on speaking terms in the following days in time for Draco to go back to school.

“Hello, mother,” he mumbled into her neck.

“Hello, darling,” she said, trying not to sob in the middle of a crowded train station. She pointed her wand at his trunk, levitating it into the air. Quickly, she grabbed it and Draco, and Apparated home.

They appeared in the foyer of the manor, and Narcissa stepped back, hesitant. “How have you been, Draco?” _How have my actions affected you_?

None of the news outlets had gotten hold of the fact that she’d been the one to turn in Lucius and his colleagues, but Lucius himself had not been quiet. The shock and anger had spread through first those in Azkaban, and then their wives, and she couldn’t imagine they wouldn’t write their children. It made her sick to think of, but she still couldn’t regret it. Her list of connections and allies had been steadily shrinking, though.There were those that were neutral on the matter of blood purity, however, even within her former group; even more, there were those that absolutely reviled the Dark Lord and the brutality he stood for, even if they wouldn’t dare oppose him. They were the ones who she would be forming stronger ties with, shoring up her own defenses and assets.

He shrugged, his shoulders tense. “It was alright,” he said. He wouldn’t meet her eyes, and her stomach sank. What had happened? She’d never been the obviously imposing force that Lucius was, but she thought Draco knew he could rely on her to not sit idly while her child was hurt. Before she could voice this, he blurted out, “Mother, I’m sorry.”

She blinked, her mind blank. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Draco repeated. “I was being an idiot, back before school, and I shouldn’t have shouted at you, or said the things I did. You were just trying to—”

“Oh, darling, no!” her mind finally came back to her. She grabbed his hands, held them in hers and made him look at her. “I should have warned you, and I should have taken how it would’ve affected you into account!”

“But you did!” Draco protested. “That curse nearly killed me, and father didn’t even stop to see who he’d hit! I nearly died, and he didn’t—h-he didn’t—” he choked on his words, and Narcissa pulled him into another hug when he broke down.

Desparately, she tried to keep her voice steady as she hummed the songs and rhymes she’d sung to him as a baby, switching between that and pure nonsense, trying to show him he was here, he was alive, and she loved him; she wouldn’t let anything happen to him. After what felt like an age, sobs turned into hiccups, turned into whimpers, turned into relaxed heavy breathing.

Slowly, she pulled back. Draco’s eyes were red and swollen, and his hair a fright, but his shoulders were relaxed. Slowly, they breathed.

“Mother?” Draco asked hesitantly. “Are we still having a party?” Their winter balls were famous for their lavishness and generosity, attended by everyone from celebrities to famous Masters of various magics to the Minister himself.

“It will be different from years past,” she warned. “But yes, I think it could do us both some good.”

Draco’s eyes lit up. “Good,” he said definitively. “Then when are we going dress robe shopping?”

 

Within twenty-four hours apparently.

Narcissa watched on in amusement as her son, her only treasured son, practically floated through bolts of expensive fabrics and shelves of accessories. He’d been here not two months ago, to get his Yule Ball robes personally made, and still this was his reaction. She couldn’t exactly talk, of course, circling a deep purple satin creation as she kept Draco in her line of sight. She wondered briefly if Kingsley would like the look of it on her, and then pushed the thought aside. It wouldn’t do to dwell on such girlish fantasies, especially when the object of said fantasies had given little to no indication that he would care either way.

“Mother!” Draco rushed back up to her, holding a couple pieces of parchment in one hand and an entire bolt of airy blue fabric in the other, balancing part of it on his shoulder. “What do you think?” He held up the parchment beside the fabric, and she could see a model of one of the latest fashions strutting around on it. The sleeves covered half their hand, coming to a point over the second knuckle, and the stiffened shoulders allowed support for the heavy fabrics left completely open to show off whatever other fashion took the wizard’s fancy. Traditionally, wizarding robes weren’t designed to be open most of the time, preferring buttons or ties down the front in complete defiance of modern muggle trends.

She looked from his glowing face, and back to the parchment. The model smirked at her. “Darling, it’s perfect!” she told him, smiling, and reveled in his exclamation of joy.

They ended up with two new sets of dress robes, one each from Draco’s fabric and one from Narcissa’s (who’d stubbornly told herself that the day she did or didn’t buy something because of someone _else_ was the day they buried her in the ground). They left with the assurance that the clothes would be ready within two days, and wandered around Diagon Alley. Privately, Narcissa was arguing with herself over going to get an actual healthy meal for lunch, like a proper pureblood matriarch, or going to Fortescue’s like both her and Draco wanted.

It came as a shock to her, then, when Draco gently tugged on her arm and led her into one of the smaller restaurants, and asked the maitre d’ for a private room. His shoulders were tense like they were when he’d come home. Worriedly, she followed him to the back. Draco refused to look her in the eye through being seated and through ordering, and picked at his food for twnty minutes before he said anything. Narcissa had refused to touch her own food.

Finally, Draco put his fork down, food only half eaten. “Mother,” he said hesitantly. “You like children, right?”

Something curled tight in her stomach, and she nodded, not liking where this was going. Grandchildren weren’t something she’d planned to think about for another three years, at the absolute earliest. _It was the Parkinson’s girl, wasn’t it? She never did have any sense of—_ “What if I didn’t have any?”

Narcissa frowned. “Why would you not?” she asked. With how much she’d wanted a child (multiple children, but it had been clear early on that even one would be nearly impossible), she couldn’t picture what it would look like to just…not. Draco looked sick at the thought, though, so she resolved to try, shoving several generations of pureblood teachings out of her head at his slightly green pallor.

“I don’t—Mother, I’m not,” he sighed, running his hand through his hair in frustration. “At the Yule Ball, there was this boy. We danced, and I think—I think I almost kissed him, but— That’s not proper, is it?” He hung his head, and looked like he knew the answer. He was probably right, of course. In the hours of tutoring and lectures and family dinners her and her sisters had to sit through, not once had she heard mention of a pureblood wizard having so much as an affair with another wizard. Other families, of course, but never good pureblood families, and certainly not in the House of Black.

“Darling, look at me,” Narcissa finally said. Draco looked up hesitantly. She took his hands across the table. “I don’t care.”

He started. “B-but you…and you and Lady Greengrass are always talking about—”

“If it will not make you happy,” Narcissa interrupted. “I do _not_ care.” Lucius would, undoubtedly. She could hear it now: how he would scoff at this admission, how he would say that it was a minor detail, how this could and _would_ be overlooked in favor of heirs to their name. There was a time when she’d found his assured belief in family and blood at the cost of everything else wonderful, especially after Andy left ( _was driven off_ , she corrected herself). She wondered when that wonder turned to disgust.

“And you’re—certain?” he hesitantly demanded, looking at her face.

“No,” she answered honestly, and she felt him tug his hands back. She held on, and continued. “I have never encountered this sort of—your feelings, darling, I’m sure have existed for as long as there’s been wizards and witches on this earth. But through my own blindness or through genuine force, I’ve never encountered such in any of the pureblood houses. But that. Does not. Matter. To me. You are my son, Draco, and I want your happiness above all else.” She’d have to search the family library thoroughly: to learn what exactly purebloods thought of these feelings; proof that it wasn’t something he’d have gotten cast out of the family for, had Lucius not been imprisoned; what resistance she’d counter from enemies and allies alike when Draco eventually tried to court someone (What kind of mother would not help with their own child’s courting? And of course, the _wedding_ —). All that could wait, though. For now, Draco looked as if the weight of a giant had been lifted from his shoulders.

“Is this what has been bothering you since your return?” she asked. He nodded. “And do I know this young man?”

He blushed. “No!” Draco said, too quickly in her opinion. “He’s an idiot, anyway, and his hair’s stupid.” _Ah_ , Narcissa thought. She had a good idea of who it was, then. _Oh, Draco, I seem to have given you my flair for dramatic, as well as my own abysmal sense of love_. She remembered almost those exact words coming out of her own mouth to Andy and Bella, when Lucius Malfoy had approached her father for permission to court her. Of course, Lucius Malfoy seems to have had much more control over his hair than the young Potter, and he’d still chosen to keep it in that ponytail.

 

Later that night, she’d torn through both stories of the library, as well as ripped the wards off Lucius’ study and gone through that, too. Through all that, Narcissa had only come up with four books—ancient tomes that didn’t look like they’d been touched in a decade.

One was only relevant because it held the wizard’s definition of ‘homosexuality.’ Two were diaries that, had she had any reason to push Draco to pursue a relationship with a woman, would have put her off the idea thoroughly. One had an entry on how to have sex with a woman (something she didn’t _ever_ want to contemplate in relation to her _child_ , Merlin) that was so dry and sounded so much like a man marching off to the gallows that she nearly put it back on principle. The other was by the same man, and was the post-mortem account of him going slowly mad as he tried to stay with his wife and keep her happy. The last was also a diary, but from a completely unrelated woman who had killed her husband days after their marriage and run off with the female author of the grimoire shelved directly next to it.

She had worse than nothing—she only had the confirmation of her son’s fears, as well as new and appalling fears that would keep her up at night for at least a month. She called for a cup of tea, absentmindedly thanking the elf that had brought it, and cursed both her and Lucius’ lineages as she thought of what to do next.

 _Kingsley might still be up_ , she thought, halfway to the desk to write a letter before dismissing the idea. She could still remember what a hassle it had been for her, Tonks, and a new young Auror named Mitch Orvan to get him to actually leave the office. He usually went to Orvan’s family for the holidays, having known him since he was Prefect at Hogwarts, but Orvan had been bringing home a woman that Kingsley insisted should get the sole attention of the Orvan matriarch.

_“Come on, man!” Orvan had whined as Narcissa was entering the office, leaning into Kingsley and looking the part of overexcited puppy. While both Orvan and Kingsley were black, Orvan was nearly as short as Narcissa, and had long dreds dyed to match the Auror uniform. “You’re being ridiculous! Hey, Miss Black, tell him he’s being ridiculous!”_

_Tonks entered behind her, saving Narcissa from having to answer. “You’re being ridiculous, boss!” she parroted happily, easily ganging up on the more senior Auror._

_“Your grandmother will not have time for two extra guests, with the amount of family that usually comes,” Kingsley protested. “Your Miss Cheslea will be more than enough.”_

_Orvan rolled his eyes. “You_ are _family, man,” he said. “Grandma’ll kill me if you don’t show up!”_

_“She will not,” Kingsley said to his junior’s dramatics. “And—”_

_“If you don’t wanna go to their party,” Tonks interrupted loudly, “You could always come to mine; mum can make you some of her muffins!”_

_Kingsley somehow seemed to pale under the tone of his skin. He turned back to Orvan. “If you’re sure, I would love to attend dinner with your family again this year.”_

Narcissa smiled at the memory. While she was the cleanest of the three sisters, Andromeda had never gotten the hang of cooking, and apparently hadn’t gotten any better since Narcissa had last seen her. She stayed still for a moment, taking comfort in tea and the memory of Kingsley, before leaping to her feet. She set the cup down hard on the desk, not caring that it skidded the length of the desk and nearly fell over the edge, and fell on the wide steps in front of the study’s fire. She grabbed one of the pillows that sat beside it and a handful of Floo powder, then threw the powder in and shouted, “Tonks house, Nymphadora Tonks!”

Tonks had given her the name of her house on the last day they’d seen each other. Narcissa had been privately overjoyed that her overtures of family were not only accepted, but to be reciprocated, though she’d only allowed herself a small smile at the time. While she hadn’t thought their first conversation outside of work would be about _this_ , Tonks was the only young witch she could think of that she could call like this, who wasn’t as wrapped up in pureblood tradition as she was.

She stuck her head in, talking before whatever room the coresponding fireplace was in fully materialized. “Dora, I’m sorry for calling so late, but Draco has told me something, and you were the only one I—Andy.” The last was said as a broken whisper, as the form of her older sister—sitting on her couch and gaping at the fireplace—came fully into focus.

They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Narcissa knew she should say something, explain she’d been looking for Tonks—something about a case, _anything_ —but she couldn’t make herself stop staring at her sister. The first thing she noticed was the fact that she’d gained weight; not a lot, by any stretch of the imagination, but enough that it would have earned her an hour of their mother yelling about how no man wanted a wife that did not live up to the ideals of each of the 28 Houses. Her hair was going gray at the temples, and their were laugh lines around her eyes and mouth. Laugh lines. She was _happy_ here. A lump grew in Narcissa’s throat. She needed to force herself to leave, now, before—

“Draco is your son?” Andy asked. Her eyes were careful, calculating, like she was facing an unknown or an enemy.

“I—yes,” Narcissa answered.

“What’s happened to him?” Andy persisted. “Tonks and Ted have gone to bed, but if it’s urgent—”

“No!” Narcissa cut her off. “It’s…it’s nothing. You probably don’t even have to tell Tonks I firecalled; it can wait until after the holidays.”

“You looked frantic when you first appeared,” Andy told her, and Narcissa still wasn’t sure what kind of game her sister was playing. “Come through, and you can solve it over a cup of tea.” Poison, then. She probably deserved it, though she hoped it wasn’t fatal. Carefully, she pulled back and stood to her feet. She’d changed into her nightclothes before beginning the search of the library, and she searched for the dark cotton house robe she’d made her way down in. It was slung over the desk, and she fumbled to put it on, before stepping into the fireplace.

She nearly fell like a child when she came out the other side, and it was only Andy catching her that stopped it. She straightened quickly, clearing her throat. “So…tea?”

They ended up in the tiniest kitchen Narcissa had ever been in, and she struggled not to stare. Slowly, she sipped her tea and avoided looking at her sister. She wouldn’t be the one to break this charade first; none of the subtle ways to check for poison had worked on the tea, and Narcissa was coming to the horrible realization that Andy might actually _want_ to talk to her.

“So,” Andy finally broke the silence. “If nothing urgent has happened to your son, why did you feel the need to firecall my daughter at nearly midnight?”

“She usually stays up this late on a case,” Narcissa defended, then took a huge gulp of her tea. It didn’t have nearly enough sugar in it, because mother’s voice was louder tonight and she’d only put one scoop in it. Andy had quirked an eyebrow at that, but let it slide.

“Yes, on a _case_ ,” Andy said, and she had the gall to look amused. “Outside of work, she loathes being out of bed more than absolutely necessary. She’s like you, that way.” The comparison shocked a shrill giggle out of Narcissa. “Cissy, what’s happened?”

Narcissa was silent, before finally asking, “Why? What have I done to earn more than you throwing me out on my ear? Why aren’t you—?”

“—stabbing you, directly in the vulnerable opening you’ve just given me, like mother would have done?” Andy finished for her. Narcissa nodded. “Twenty years ago, I might have, but Ted seems to have mellowed me. I won’t say I’m not angry, or hurt. I thought _you,_ at least, would have—”She sucked in a shaky breath, fighting tears. “And I’m not saying we don’t need to talk. Possibly scream. But you’re my baby sister, and I’m not going to _not_ help you just because you were a little shit.” Narcissa opened her mouth to point out she’d been a bit more than ‘a little shit,’ but Andy cut her off with a sharp ‘shh!’ “Tell me what’s wrong with your son.”

“Nothing’s wrong, exactly,” she began. “I—he just told me, today, that he…prefers the company of men. Exclusively.” The definition felt unwieldy and overformal, and Narcissa wondered what a more modern wizard would say.

Andy frowned. “You’re not going to try and force him—”

“No! No, I assured him it did not matter, that I would love him either way, but there’s absolutely nothing in either the Black or Malfoy collections that would support me, or showed that it was fine.”

Andy, to Narcissa’s suprise, snorted. “Of course there’s not,” Andy told her. “I searched the Black collection.” Narcissa blinked, unconprehending. “I’m bi. So’s Tonks, if you cared.” _Bi. Both. All_. Oh.

“Mother might have actually had a heart attack if you’d run off with a muggleborn witch,” Narcissa blurted, then put the cup back to her lips and resolved to _never speak again_.

Andy threw her head back and laughed. “She might just,” she finally said, sighing happily at the thought. Narcissa couldn’t blame her; it would have been funny. “That would have been a sight to see. Did you find the diary of that lesbian? Marian something-or-other. The one that ran off with the Dark Arts author?”

“The one that murdered her husband?” Narcissa asked. “Yes, though I don’t know how it would help.”

Her sister rolled her eyes. “It wouldn’t; it’s a fun read, is all. Did you get to the part where she entreatied a dragon clan for their rituals on sex magic?”

“No!” Narcissa gasped.

“Yes,” Andy insisted, laughing again. “And there’s also a part where…”

They talked well into the night, quickly veering away from the reason Narcissa had come, and the sun was peeking over the horizon before Narcissa went home. She wasn’t tired; the opposite—she’d never felt this invigorated or this happy in her life. Carefully, she pulled the present for Andy from her dresser. She’d lied to Tonks, of course—she’d had a present for Andy for months. Her hands ran over the intricate embroidery of the veil, traditional for all Black marriages, and something Andy would have never gotten. Their relationship was too precarious for such a personal present, but…

 _Maybe next year_ , Narcissa thought to herself, carefully folding the veil and putting it back in it’s hiding spot. She resolved to get at least a few hours sleep before she had to be up, putting the finishing touches on the planning for the ball. If nothing else, this year’s would be _very_ interesting.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonding over historical lesbians: always a good option. A review would be much appreciated if you made it this far!


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